


To Build on Rock

by redsnake05



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Healing, Magical Artifacts, Room of Requirement, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 21:10:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5680882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsnake05/pseuds/redsnake05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minerva finds that someone else has been walking the school at night, someone who also can't forget the people lost in the second War against Voldemort. Together, they find healing for the Castle, and a way to move on for themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Build on Rock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rayvyn2k](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayvyn2k/gifts).



> Written for Rayvyn2k for Hoggywartyxmas 2016 on LJ. Many thanks to tjs_whatnot for her excellent beta reading and insightful suggestions.

The moon was full, shining brightly in bars along the outer corridors where Minerva walked. She wrapped her robes around her tightly, warming charm firmly in place on her slippers, and walked the long stone halls of the Castle. It was always quiet, without the dusty bustle of the day, and sometimes, if she walked long enough, Minerva was sure she could hear the stones moving and settling, even five years after the battle and three after the rebuild was finished. 

The rebuilt Castle was almost indistinguishable from the old. Almost. Minerva came down the grand staircase into the entrance hall. Patches of bright and shade broke up the room in unfamiliar ways. In the streaky light, the room was still, quiet, deep with magic. She paused in a silvery spot in the middle of the floor and let the magic seep up into her. 

The base magic that wove the Castle together was old, and the newer threads and webs of magic were starting to fade into them slowly. When the rebuild had been first finished, Minerva had hardly dared walk across this floor, as the new repairs were so sharp she could almost feel the pain of the caster. Sometimes, she had to stop and press her hand over her mouth to suppress a cry at the ragged edges they'd left, bleeding with their own feelings. 

Minerva sometimes felt like she could sink right into the rock itself, on nights like this, as the children and teachers slept around her and the Castle hummed sleeplessly to itself. She had a duty to the people who dreamed in peace here, and to the stones themselves. Sighing, she closed her eyes for a moment and let the magic of the Castle swallow her down. She staggered slightly, opening her eyes again and letting the hall around her settle back into its night-shadowed peace. There was still something slightly, ever so slightly, wrong with the magic of the Castle.

Experience had taught her that standing and listening, feeling, waiting for the Castle to show her the problem, wouldn't work. She turned and walked away, back to bed and another fruitless search of the reference books. Dinky appeared as she shut her door. A cup, gently steaming, was placed on her bedside table and a quick snap of the Elf's fingers warmed the sheets. Minerva smiled and thanked Dinkybefore settling into her bed, reaching for her tea and hoping that one day she'd find the answer to what ailed the Castle.

The next day found the Castle packed with students, and Minerva smiled tiredly over the Great Hall as the students crammed in their breakfasts. Her gaze rested on a child quite close to the end of the Slytherin table; he had weighed down the end of his essay with a pot of marmalade as he squeezed the last few lines onto his parchment between bites of his marmalade-laden toast. Instinctively, Minerva looked towards the end of the table for Severus, knowing he'd be watching the child also. Severus had never liked marmalade, and he loathed smears of any breakfast on homework parchments. His face would have spoken volumes to her.

Her smile faded and she looked away quickly as she remembered she would not find him there. Even five years after his death, it was funny how she still expected him to be in his place, where she could look to him and read so much from the stillness of his outer shell. He'd been able to tell her everything she needed to know with the raise of an eyebrow. She missed him so much; it hadn't faded as much as she'd hoped it would and the pain was still sharp.

An owl swooped down before she had a chance to become maudlin. She rescued her tea cup from its beak and untied the scroll from its leg with brisk fingers. The owl accepted a piece of bacon and flew away, leaving her with a scroll sealed with black wax in the serpentine shape of the Malfoy seal. She compressed her lips tightly and broke the seal. The letter was much like the previous ones he'd sent; an imperious desire to see her, vague references to their mutual friend, some possibly sincere protestations of regret. She crumpled the parchment in her hands; she had no desire to speak of Severus Snape with Lucius Malfoy, and no inclination to ease whatever guilt he felt. She had her own pain to deal with.

Rising, she forced a smile to her lips and nodded to the professors, raised her hand in vague farewell to any students who could spare attention from their breakfast, and walked briskly from the Great Hall. A fire burned merrily in the Entrance Hall, heating charms in place to keep the cavernous space comfortable. Minerva threw the scroll into the flames and kept on walking, steady and imperturbable as the stones themselves.

>>>>

The moon would not rise till late this night, and the shadows clung deeply to the Castle corridors. Minerva walked through rooms and down hallways sunk in indistinct darkness; less disorienting than crisp moonlight, but more occult than ever. She paused at one long window and looked out over the grounds. In the dark charcoal night, she could barely make out the edge of the forest. 

Leaning against the stone sill, she let her thoughts drift like shadows. They followed tapestries hanging in dusty rooms, steps worn smooth with generations of footsteps, the gaudy gilt of especially pretentious portraits. She came back to full alertness and straightened. She could hear slow, deliberate footsteps.

She listened carefully to the steps pace up a side corridor towards her, then pause, the faintest scrape of a sole over the floor, and turn back. Curious, she walked softly forward, not quite sure how her wand ended up in her hand, but certainly comforted by its presence. She remembered the many nights during the war when she'd investigated footsteps with her wand in her hand.

She peered around the corner, taking care to keep her body in shadow. Whomever it was, they'd lit the dim candles in the wall sconces. As she watched, they reached the end of their pacing and turned again. She recognised him, and made a soft noise of surprise, obviously loudly enough to put Neville on the alert. Minerva would have left him to it, understanding that sometimes you needed to be alone in the dark, but from the way his wand was out immediately and the candles flared to lessen her advantage in the shadows, she knew she wouldn't be allowed to retreat unseen.

"Old habits die hard, Professor Longbottom," she said, stepping out of the shadows, already tucking her wand away. She saw him lower his, shoulders slumping as he relaxed.

"As you say, Headmistress," he replied. He wiped his hand over his forehead in a gesture that spoke of long hours of wakefulness, of vigil, and Minerva felt a sense of companionship with this young man. Instead of excusing herself and leaving, Minerva moved closer.

"What brings you to the corridors at this time of night?" she asked. She saw Neville brace himself and forestalled whatever his answer might have been. She wasn't here to question him as a professor. "I'm not asking as your headmistress, Neville. Merely as a friend and fellow night wanderer."

He gestured at the wall opposite, as if that explained it. Realising where they were, she thought that maybe it did.

"The Room of Requirement?" she asked. 

"I can't find it," he said. "It won't come for me." He scrubbed at his forehead again. "I left a lot of things there."

Minerva nodded. She knew of the last days of Severus's tenure, when the Carrows were gaining in power and malice, and Neville was the leader of a far too young resistance, but she didn't doubt there was more to it than she had heard. In the candlelight, his eyes were too old for his still boyish face.

"There is something wrong with the Castle," she said. "I can feel it, in the stones, in the way the spells weave in and out of bedrock, but I don't know what it is. Perhaps this is the problem."

Neville was silent for a moment, looking at the wall where the door refused to appear. Minerva waited for him, letting him take the time he needed to think. In some ways, he was still the boy he'd been, and this slow thoughtfulness was one of them. Then he nodded and turned, face set with decision, and she saw the man he'd become.

"So we need to know about how this room came to be, and the magic that binds a room like it to the magic of the Castle," he said.

"Yes," she said. "I have done some research into the way the Castle magic is set up, but I've not studied come-and-go rooms of this type."

Neville nodded and obviously tried to gather his thoughts. "I have considerable practical knowledge of the room," he said, "but my understanding of the theory is not good. It's further complicated, of course, by the fact that the room could also manifest as the Room of Hidden Things."

It was Minerva's turn to nod thoughtfully. A chill wind blew down the corridor and make the candles waver. She realised suddenly that it was getting later, and cold. 

"We should meet tomorrow for tea, to busy ourselves with research and strategy. Shall I see you in my office at three o'clock?"

"Yes, that would be excellent," said Neville, then stopped and smiled a little ruefully. "I have a double with Slytherin and Hufflepuff last, however. I may be a little late."

Minerva laughed. Of all the doubles one could have in the afternoon, Slytherin and Hufflepuff had always been the worst combination.

"In that case, make it four o'clock," she said. "Who knows what disasters you might have to repair."

They turned and started to walk back towards the stairs, candles slowly dimming behind them. Neville launched into the story of the animated earth clods that had rendered his last lesson hideous, and the shadows closed behind them. For a moment, as they walked together, Minerva forgot her worries. She left him at the hall that led to the teacher's quarters and walked on through the corridors to her own rooms. 

The darkness that clung to the walls around her was not so deep now, and she slipped into bed and sipped the tea the House Elf brought her, feeling more optimistic than she had for a while. She laughed quietly to herself. She'd forgotten what a difference a good co-conspirator could make. She remembered Severus's face, alight with amusement and intense with thought, when they had been working on something together, and she smiled at the memory. There was no lingering sadness to push away this time. She extinguished the lights with a wave of her wand and slept.

>>>>

Minerva presented herself at Irma's desk in the library promptly on receiving her message that the books she wanted had arrived. They had known each other for many years, and Minerva had no intention of enduring another lecture on punctuality and respect for books. As it was, she had arrived even sooner than Irma had anticipated, and Minerva allowed herself a small smile as Irma swiftly hid her chagrin at being caught out.

"May I ask what you are researching?" Irma asked, running her fingers over the spines of the books. A text on medieval Castle structures, another biography of the founders and a rather obscure journal with an article on charms that scan for magic; Minerva supposed it was a rather eclectic mix.

Minerva wasn't sure if Neville would wish their search for the Room of Requirement to be public, but she knew that Irma was completely trustworthy, and may even know more of some of its secrets than she did. 

"The Room of Requirement," said Minerva, deciding to seek her help. "It won't manifest."

Irma nodded, looking away with a furrowed brow, obviously thinking hard. 

"The Castle has its own magic," Irma said at last, "so the very stone is shaped by long years of wishes and dreams, for the founders took care to allow their spells to wax strong on the happiness of the inhabitants."

Minerva lifted her brows in surprise. She had long believed this to be true, just from feeling the magic woven round the Castle, but Irma seemed to speak from known research. She waited for Irma to tell her more. 

"But this," Irma continued, tapping her fingers on the topmost book, "this is rather different. There is no generalised magic to that room, none at all. It is a very specific spell, a transfiguration of a space into another space, that is then found _in_ another space, even, generated from the magical intent of the person wanting the room. One might almost consider it to be a trap spell, or something very similar, waiting to be triggered, giving a range of arithmantical possibilities: _if_ this, _then_ that."

Irma focused sharply back onto Minerva. "I am afraid," she said, "that we have no research of the type you seek. However, if you will follow me, I have something to show you."

Minerva followed her through the stacks, out of the sunlight that streamed through the high windows and into the dry shadows of the deepest stacks. Irma led them past the Restricted Section, into what seemed to be the very heart of her domain. It was spotlessly clean, but still managed to have that indefinable scent of dust and paper. 

Irma rested her hand on a small figure of Seshat, eyes unfocused on the wall in front of her, and Minerva watched, fascinated, as the wall grew a bookcase, nestled into space that surely hadn't existed before. Minerva could just feel the subtle play of magic. She concentrated, and felt the familiar paper and leather binding magic of Irma working in concert with some other that she didn't recognise.

Irma pulled open the leadlight doors to the cabinet and pulled forth a small book. "I've not studied the bookcase in detail, but I can see the similarities to the Room of Requirement," she said. She flipped the book open and smiled at the title page as if regarding an old friend she'd missed.

"Have I given you enough to work with?" Irma asked.

"Quite enough," Minerva said. Her mind was whirling with possibilities and practicalities. Irma smiled again, as if she knew exactly how tantalising the glimpse of a new line of inquiry was for Minerva. 

Irma settled into a comfortable chair next to the bookcase, and a muttered spell lit the branch of candles perfectly positioned for easy reading. Minerva wondered what the book was, and what had made Irma so happy to see it. She watched Irma run her hand over the title page and decided not to ask. She would concentrate on her own mysteries, like the problems of conjuring space, and the tantalising arithmantic algorithms of trap spells, and the way two magics could work together in such a way. She left Irma to enjoyment of her book and walked back out of the library.

Mind busily sifting through possibilities, she came down the main staircase. If the anchor was in the foundations, that would make sense, since the earliest records of the Castle included the Room of Requirement in their descriptions. She paused at the foot of the stairs, this time standing in the afternoon sunlight as children wandered too and fro, and she took a moment to feel the stones underneath her feet. The scuffing feet of the students, their voices, and particularly their laughter, smoothed the new repair spells, adding layers and depths of living voice to the older spells. She'd long since decided that the magic of the Castle mostly lay in the magic of its inhabitants, each youthful moment of joy adding to the web of wards and charms and more esoteric spells that held the buildings together. 

Neville came through the door on a flurry of wind and blown leaves, shaking them out of his robes and banishing them with his wand. A student beside him was speaking earnestly, intently, and Minerva watched him listening with equal intensity and sweet, steadfast sincerity. She sometimes missed teaching, the direct interaction she could have with students to help them see and understand their magic and how to direct it. She could see the teaching taking place here, in the way that Neville nodded understandingly, in the way the student lit up at Neville's replies. Neville looked up and met her eyes with a smile. He parted from the student, who now looked much happier, and crossed to Minerva's side.

"Well, Headmistress, are you satisfied that I'm earning my money?" he asked. Minerva laughed. 

"Always, Professor, always. But enough of your audacity; I have discovered something rather interesting about our other project."

Neville immediately looked interested and followed Minerva to her office. A House Elf brought tea and a hearty sandwich for Neville.

"Professor didn't eat no lunch," Miffy said, shaking her head sadly at him. "Professor is going to fade away, yes."

"I'm sorry," Neville said. "I will try not to let students talk so long next time. Thank you for the sandwich."

Minerva watched Miffy beam at his words, and poured her own tea, thinking about the way Neville had grown out of his teenage awkwardness and into a mature confidence and charm. She'd worried about him when he was younger, but that inner core of strength he'd shown, right from the beginning, was shining through now. She put down her cup and shook herself free of the memories of the past. She had no need to dwell. She was here to serve the future, not remember the past, no matter how it intruded.

"I was in the library," she started. Neville made an inarticulate sound of encouragement around his sandwich and Minerva continued relating what she'd observed of the bookcase. Neville listened carefully.

"So you think it's worth investigating trap spells? And arithmantic algorithms?" he said.

She spread her hands wordlessly. At least they had a place to start in their research now. He nodded, as if he could understand all the complicated thoughts revolving in her head. Perhaps he could; at least the ones that pertained to the practicalities of this mission. 

"I think, too," he said, "that it's worth considering the space the room must come from. If this bookcase came from the figure of Seshat, then where must the Room of Requirement come from? Perhaps we can find the space that generates the space, so to speak."

He was quiet for a moment, cradling his cup of tea in his hands and thinking. Minerva took another biscuit.

"I think it would be worth looking in the foundations," he said. "The spell must be triggered from somewhere, and whatever it is has to be fairly big to house the space transforms into the room."

Minerva made an interested noise. She hadn't considered looking directly for the spell.

"I take it there is a way into the foundations?" he asked. She looked doubtful, and he continued, "it won't be solid stone underneath. There will be stones, probably dry set, and cement in the corners, perhaps, and a whole lot of magic." He looked embarrassed. "I discovered I have stone sense, while with the Aurors."

"Really?" asked Minerva. 

"Apparently, it's very common, but most people don't bother with it. It's the story of my life; to be utterly unremarkable and completely overlooked."

"Don't fish for compliments," said Minerva. Looking at the blush that still stained his cheeks, she rather thought that compliments on his abilities had been in short supply in his life so far. He had definitely made himself, rather than being the result of careful nurture. "This ability of yours sounds eminently practical and very well-suited to our current venture. I will leave the stone work itself to you, then, deferring to your greater talent, and I will concentrate on the nature of the spell itself."

"Very well," said Neville, looking rather surprised at her words. Minerva wanted to tell him not to sell himself short, not to let his insecurities get in the way of his talents, but she held her tongue. He would continue to shape himself, no matter what she said, and she had enough to do, with settling the Castle down into the bedrock and guiding that future. She smiled at him instead and poured herself another cup of tea.

>>>>

Helga Hufflepuff let the last load of stone settle gently from her levitation charm with a soft clatter. She sat down on a convenient rock and let her hand settle on it, feeling the banded layers of the gneiss humming softly under her fingers. This rock was old, tempered by pressures and forces she couldn't even begin to imagine. It was also beautiful, glittering in the fading sunlight. She wondered how long it had existed for, enduring, changing slowly, with no purpose but to remain. And yet it sang softly to her, the vibration of the crystals of quartz and feldspar making a subtle harmony.

She looked out over the trenches dug for the foundations. The castle would rely on these rocks and stones, gathered from all over Scotland, ready to bed down using both the natural forces of the mundane world and the force of the founders' combined magic. Already Godric was climbing over piles of the hardest rocks, looking for those with natural right angles to make the cornerstones. She smiled at his muttered commentary on the type of each rock. He was a hothead, a chivalrous, intemperate man, but she could not help but like him. He was charming and energetic, and said what he thought.

Helga wanted to build a place where everyone would have what they needed to survive, and, more than that, to flourish. A place of joy and perseverance, even if some thought joy was naive and perseverance tedious. Helga did not. She wanted her future to have these things, and in abundance, but she knew that many students would struggle to find it. 

She patted the rock she was sitting on again, sighing over a future she couldn't guard against. She stopped, hand settling onto the rough surface again as a thought occurred to her. There was no reason she couldn't construct a place where her future children would always find a welcome and the things they needed. 

In her mind, Helga wove together the spell work her room would need. She fished a bit of parchment from her pocket and sketched the arithmantic equations needed to govern the space, from, say, inside a rock, undergoing variable transfigurations in response to variable magical requests. She would use the rock she was sitting on. It was the earth itself; endlessly pliable, infinitely enduring. 

"You look rather like you're planning something," Godric said, taking off his hat and mopping his head.

"Do I?" asked Helga. "Well, I suppose you'd know. I never met anyone like you for hatching plans and organising people."

"Should I be insulted?" he asked.

"No, and don't bother asking what I'm planning, because I don't want your interference and I'll ask if I want your help. You'll just mess it all up with heroism or bravery or something."

Godric laughed and sat on the stone next to her. He tilted his face up to the sun and was silent. Helga chewed absently on the end of her quill and considered her equations. She was planning something, she supposed, in the rather mischievous sense that Godric meant. Had Salazar said it, or Rowena, even, there would have been a lot more weight behind the word. She didn't think it was such a bad thing to plan for the future, for the lives of children she'd never meet, and prepare for their wellbeing. One day, her room would be a port in a storm for those who needed it.

"You know what this place needs?" asked Godric. 

"More daring hotheads?" she asked. 

"I dash heroically to the rescue of one lady and never live it down," he protested, laughing as she shook her head, remembering his rash determination to rescue her from a perfectly well-behaved devil's snare. "No, no," he continued, "a place for people to keep their secrets. I was thinking of it as I looked for the cornerstones. A Castle like this will be full of things people want to keep tucked away and private."

"That is unexpectedly thoughtful," said Helga. She was surprised. She hadn't thought that Godric might see so clearly into the heart of what people needed, and she was as pleased at his consideration as she was delighted by the idea. Looking at her paper, she could see how the same magic could support two rooms, one to provide people with what they needed and one to hide the things they didn't.

"I'll leave you to it," Godric said. "I may be a daring hothead, but you, Helga, are the practical heart of this Castle, and one day some student will be grateful for your practical forethought."

Helga smiled, touched, and went back to her calculations as Godric clambered onto a new pile of rock. 

"I still have scars from that damned devil's snare," he called, and Helga laughed. They only made him more heroic, she was sure, but she was happy with practicality. 

The Castle would be built with strong, sensible foundations. It would harbour all sorts of witches and wizards and grow all sorts of minds, but her Castle, the part she would contribute to, would grow stronger with each joyous laugh, with each hard-won triumph of perseverance. When these were hard to come by, her Castle would give a room for whatever comfort mind or body needed. She was content.

>>>>

Minerva led the way to the deepest of the cellars below the school. Most of the foundations were buried, great stones placed dry set and held with friction, gravity and magic, but some were visible here, where the timber framing and roughly shaped stones of the lower level gave way to the flat plates of the foundations. Not much damage had been done here, and Minerva could feel the magic becoming smoother, more united in purpose, as they descended. They had to stoop low, nearly crawling, wands lit up for enough light, and Minerva carefully turned her mind from consideration of the massive weight of stone over her head.

Neville sank to his knees next to a beautiful, smooth outcrop of rock and placed his hand on it. Minerva watched, fascinated, as he started to hum softly. She could feel the magic resonating in the tiny crawlspace. Though the magic here was almost purely practical, for preservation and safety and protection, she could still feel the way it lived with the joy of the Castle's inhabitants. It seemed that the very first stones had been laid with love and delight running through them, to take strength from these ephemeral emotions to anchor the unyielding rock. Neville smoothed his hand over the surface of the rock he'd chosen and opened his eyes again.

"These rocks are the right sort," he said. "And I think, I can maybe feel an odd kind of _not-space_ , just a little further along."

Minerva hoped it was what they were looking for; the research kept leading them round in circles, with no clear explanations of how these spells were constructed. Witches and wizards usually loved to boast about their cleverness, but all the examples she could find were so old that not even diaries and letters could be mined for detail. She was frustrated, and if the foundations didn't hold any clues, she was just about ready to wash her hands of the whole thing. At least then they wouldn't have to crawl all over and through this chilly labyrinth looking for it. The space was cold, but she was relieved it wasn't damp and didn't appear to be harbouring anything sinister. She still didn't like it. She'd never really liked being below ground; even the dungeons were a little too enclosed for her.

They shuffled forward, Neville leading the way. Neville stopped every so often to touch particular rocks. Minerva didn't question it. She wished she'd put a warming charm on her feet before they came in here. When Neville put his hand to yet another rock, she didn't expect more than some more humming and yet more shuffling progress in the confined space. Instead, he gasped and swayed and Minerva only just reacted in time to steady him.

"Fire," he said. His other hand came to rest on the rock too. 

"They said the Room of Hidden Things was burned when Crabbe pursued them there," Minerva said, watching Neville carefully. 

"You can see the charring on the rock," said Neville. The strength was returning to his voice, thankfully. Minerva rested a hand on his shoulder and let the magic of the Castle flow through her.

"I can feel the magic here," she said. "Very thorough, very subtle - no wonder we couldn't feel it from the ground floor."

"Can you fix it?" asked Neville.

"I think so," said Minerva. "Yes, we can fix it." Neville's shoulders slumped in relief, and Minerva hoped her confidence held up to closer inspection. She gingerly knelt next to him on the bare, gravelly earth. Sharp stones dug into her knees and she resolved to bring candles next time, so she didn't have to maintain a lumos and could use her wand for other things, like being comfortable. She caught the tail end of Neville's smile as she looked back up. 

"I don't like being under here," she confessed. "The Castle has always been the part above ground, and this section is darker, colder, and much closer than I like."

"The stone ceilings do not seem so intimidatingly heavy when they're further away from your head," Neville agreed. Minerva looked around, at the huge wooden footings and massive oak framing. The preservation charms here were robust, almost crisp, still, all these ages after casting. The stones were big, too, rough and angular, though the magic on them was smooth, almost hypnotic in the way it bound them together. She turned back to the rock.

"I can feel where the charring lies through the rock," said Neville.

"I can feel where the spell lines, like a net to hold the space that can become a room, have been damaged," Minerva said. "They are not broken - whoever cast this was utterly determined in their purpose - but they can't flex around the space of the room anymore. We can fix it, though, I hope. There are spells that repair spells."

"I didn't know that," Neville said. "When the Castle was rebuilt, then, why…." His voice trailed away.

"It was quicker," she said. "Not much of the damage was structural; it was mostly wards and charms and ornamentation. But the new magic is different. It's slowly blurring into the old magic. Repair spells are often more complicated, and require much more effort on the part of the caster. They often have to be adapted to fit the particular type of damage, or the particular type of original spell. This one, for example, will require substantial research, and probably both of us to cast it, judging by the level of damage and the complexity of the original spell."

"Well, then, a spell to repair a spell," said Neville. "It seems rather too simple."

"A man I once knew, during the War against Grindelwald, said that any intelligent fool can make things bigger and more complex." She started to lead the way towards the entrance, ignoring the way her back protested, wondering if she could get a hot bath before dinner. "This room was made by one subtle person with one simple goal."

"Then a spell to repair a spell," repeated Neville, reluctantly removing his hands from the stone. "Please work," he whispered, so softly that Minerva could pretend she hadn't heard him. 

>>>>

Neville stood at the end of the corridor, cloak wrapped around him securely and ears alert for the slightest noise. He knew he didn't have long to get the room before the Carrows or their acolytes found him, but he also had to get the room right. He wouldn't get a second chance at this. 

Taking a deep breath, Neville tried to concentrate on what the room needed to be for him and the rest of the DA. It was so hard when the Castle was this still. He jumped at the slightest shift of air. He'd never known the Castle to be this lifeless. The very rocks themselves seemed to be holding themselves back, staying dull and safe and unresponsive. He couldn't help but think that the Castle was being affected by the sullen silence of its inhabitants. 

Neville wanted a place that would be safe, where he and others could live and find the things they needed, and, more importantly, where they could not be found. He desperately needed a sanctuary where he could hide and regroup. He remembered that there was no way to get food to the room, and he didn't think anyone in the DA would really want to try cooking. A way to get food, he thought. A _safe_ way.

Leaning his head against the stone behind him, Neville gave way to despair for a moment. He couldn't imagine how he could get all the things he needed. He couldn't imagine a future that wasn't struggle and fear right now. The Castle he'd loved was cold and unfriendly, and he couldn't see anything brighter ahead of him. He was bruised and tired from shouldering the burden of resistance, and wasn't sure how to go on.

Neville took a deep breath. He wasn't going to break down now. He scrubbed at his eyes and gathered up his determination. He'd never been the most daring or adventurous, and he wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but he would just have to do his best. He'd have to carry on, because that was what he did. He felt, just for a moment, the faintest flicker of hope, as if the Castle itself around him wanted him to go on. Even if it was his mind playing tricks on him, he felt heartened. 

He needed a safe place, with books and tools for their fight, but games too, and places that his comrades could sit and talk, or cry, or strategise; whatever was needed. Places to sleep. A way to get food; they couldn't rely on the kitchens. A place where they could laugh, if there was happiness to be found. He thought of the simple delight some of the first years still managed, and a nostalgic smile curved his lips. He knew what they needed: a castle within the Castle. Somewhere warm, comfortable and strong. Somewhere that would let them be all that they could.

He started to pace, slowly, cautiously, down the corridor, his mind fixed on this vision he had. The details didn't matter; he kept the picture of security, of quiet happiness, of the time and space to recover and prepare, at the forefront of his mind. He wanted a place that would not be able to be found, he thought on a sudden wave of ferocity; the Carrows and their supporters wouldn't be able to discover them. Down the corridor he paced, then turned and came back, quicker now, more definite, before turning for the last time and striding down the stone floor.

He was defiant, the flicker of hope rising higher in him, and he turned for the last time to see the door appear in the middle of the wall. His face broke into a relieved smile and he hurried forwards as if the handle might disappear. He pulled the door open without hesitation, and the room in front of him didn't disappoint. It was as if his favourite parts of the common room and library were squeezed in with a little conservatory at the back with plants for him to look after and space for a cauldron, and it was perfect. 

Footsteps sounded in the hallway and Neville stepped inside and pulled the door mostly shut, ready to close it if needed. He was sure it would close silently. Instead, he pushed the door open as Seamus and Hannah hurried round the corner. They saw Neville and their faces lit up. He pulled them inside and shut the door behind them.

"I thought we'd find you here," said Hannah, hugging Neville close for a beautiful, sweet-smelling moment. "I knew you wouldn't be able to stay out there with the Carrows much longer."

"Wicked," said Seamus, turning around to stare at the room. "I told you, the room likes you best, Neville."

"You shouldn't be out after curfew," said Neville. He hated to think what might happen to the pair of them, half-bloods both, if they were caught.

"We'll have to sneak out in the morning," said Seamus. He had wandered off to the other rooms that had appeared. "You've got beds in here, and that looks like a bathroom."

"It's perfect," said Hannah, having had a chance to look round. "It's just like how I remember the Castle, from first year, when I'd gotten used to the place and it felt like home, but so intensely magical. You could expect anything, in a place like this."

"That's the idea," said Neville.

"What will we eat?" asked Seamus.

"I've only just gotten in here," said Neville. "I don't know; I asked the room to sort it out for me."

"Wicked," said Seamus again, wandering off in the opposite direction. "I'll see if I can find it."

Hannah squeezed Neville's hand for just a moment and he looked at her, seeing her relief at the safety of the room laying over her worries for the world outside. 

"I think we can expect a lot of things, in a room like this," he said. Hannah smiled at him and opened her mouth once more. 

"Oi, are you even _trying_ to find out how we're going to eat, Neville?" shouted Seamus. Hannah laughed, abandoning whatever she'd been planning to say, and Neville joined her.

"Priorities," said Neville. They went to join Seamus in his search, and the smile lingered on Neville's face. The room had already found a way to bring laughter to them, and Neville would repay this bit of magic with all the determination he had.

>>>>

Hogsmeade was crowded with families and students. Minerva had her cloak wrapped firmly around her as she walked briskly along the streets. Turning a few corners, she soon left the bustle behind. She pulled her scarf up, obscuring part of her face, and her hat down. She had need of some very _particular_ ingredients, for one of the potions for the spell she and Neville were adapting, and she'd always found Aberforth to be entirely helpful in their acquisition.

The Hog's Head was deserted, but Minerva didn't lower her scarf. She knew that Aberforth appreciated the discretion. He had a shady reputation to maintain, after all, and it wouldn't do to have just anyone strolling in without at least attempting to hide their identity. At the counter, Aberforth was pretending to clean a glass with a rag. He pulled a bottle of Firewhisky out from under the counter and a pair of tumblers to go with it. Minerva recognised the label on the bottle; her usual.

"Really, Aberforth, what is the point of expecting us to be discreet and cloaked, if you're just going to recognise us anyway?" she asked.

"Are you saying you don't want the whisky?" he asked.

"Don't be ridiculous," Minerva replied. "I'm being discreet, not foolish."

Aberforth poured her drink, and one for himself. She settled on a stool and sipped. The little distillery that made this particular single malt wasn't far from her childhood home; she'd sometimes wondered if Aberforth somehow knew and kept it for that reason.

Aberforth listened to the short list of things she needed and nodded understandingly. 

"I'm not sure why some of these things are on the restricted list," he said, "but I can get them."

"No one knows why they're on the restricted list," she replied, "except, presumably, for the narrow-minded, petty, scare-mongering bureaucrat from the Ministry that made the decision."

Aberforth chuckled and poured her another whisky.

"Sure, you sound very discreet now," he said. "Have more fuel, fire-breather."

Minerva laughed. She'd always appreciated Aberforth, possibly because he'd always accepted her as she was, from the first time she came here looking for slightly disreputable materials that a professor couldn't openly purchase.

The door scraped open again, and Minerva reflexively pulled her hat even lower. Neville Longbottom hurried in, not even bothering with a scarf around his face, and Aberforth sighed.

"These young ones," he said. "No shame, no sense of respect for an old man's follies. It's almost as if this is a respectable place to be seen." Minerva chuckled in sympathy. Neville stopped short at the sight of her cloaked figure at the bar with Aberforth.

"It's a bit late to back out now, Professor Longbottom," she said. "Come and join us for a drink."

"Headmistress," he said, sounding slightly scandalised. Aberforth choked on his whisky. 

"You're a respectable pillar of the community," he said. "Look at the outrage you're causing in my bar."

"Don't look so alarmed, Neville," Minerva said. "How could I possibly reprimand you when I am also in this den of vice and iniquity?"

"You're talking about _my_ fine establishment," said Aberforth.

"Exactly," said Minerva. She tossed back her second whisky and stood, intending to give Neville some privacy to transact his business. 

"I just came in for my parcel from Luna," Neville said. As she walked to the door, Aberforth handed it over from under the counter. She hadn't gone too many paces down the street when Neville appeared beside her, still looking pink and acutely embarrassed.

"Aberforth has a long tradition of providing professors with things that they might prefer not to buy openly," she said. "Indeed, Armando Dippet himself introduced me to the establishment when I began teaching." She didn't mention the difficult relationship between Albus and Aberforth; if Neville didn't know it already, there was nothing to be gained by digging up that history. 

"Aberforth was nothing but helpful when the DA appeared in his cellar, asking for his aid," said Neville. "And some of Luna's parcels are not really suitable for being sent straight to the Castle." He was gradually regaining his normal colour, and looked less apprehensive as Minerva unwound her scarf as their distance from the inn increased. She thought perhaps it was the concealment as much as her presence at the Hog's Head that had disconcerted Neville. He wasn't one to hide things about himself, and she supposed he might find it odd that she would be so comfortable with it. She smiled as she remembered going to the Hog's Head with Severus, and how surprised he'd been when she was greeted as an old friend by Aberforth. 

Being respectable had its uses, in Minerva's opinion, but respectability for its own sake was not worth the daintily starched doilies it rested on. She was a practical woman, and sometimes Aberforth and the Hog's Head was a practical solution. Besides, she did like that he kept that whisky. She could understand why the Room of Requirement had chosen to place the tunnel outlet there. 

"Are you receiving contraband plant material from Luna?" she asked, dropping the vexed problem of respectability.

"No, nothing like that," Neville said, "though the last ones _were_ rather more vigourous than she led me to believe."

"If you break a greenhouse, you have to arrange repairs," she said. 

Neville and Minerva turned the corner into the main street. Minerva stopped short to avoid a collision with an enthusiastic child pursued by its parent. The street was even busier, with students streaming out of shops and milling around before returning to school. Neville turned to Minerva with a rueful smile. 

"This is the time I wish I could wear a disguise," Neville said. 

"You must be used to being recognised," Minerva said.

Neville shrugged. "I'm not a chocolate frog wizard," he said. "I'm utterly unmemorable now."

"Cease this modesty, Longbottom," snapped Minerva. "It is ill-founded, and it doesn't become you to doubt yourself." 

"I don't so much," he protested. "Well, not anymore. It's just that I don't want the limelight; I want to do what I'm good at, in a place I love, and was ready to lay down my life for."

Minerva understood that. She might think nostalgically of the highlands and visit for the lonely beauty of the hills, but the Castle was home. She was happy to see that love in Neville also. He would always come back; he had pride in what he'd done, but no need to live on that memory. He would move forward, and she carefully didn't let herself dwell on the thought of Severus, who'd never had pride in what he'd done, who had never been able to move forward.

"That's all we need, isn't it?" Minerva said. 

They walked on in silence, threading in and out of the crowd. Minerva thought of the Castle waiting for them, ready to wrap them in grey stone and soft spells, ready to welcome their love and devotion. Next to her, Neville hummed quietly, an old, old tune, and Minerva felt content.

>>>>

The kitchens were dim and quiet as Minerva opened the door and let herself in. Only a few elves were around and the lights were low. One of the elves hurried over.

"Good evening, Winky," Minerva said.

"Good evening, Headmistress," Winky replied. "What is I doing for you tonight?"

"I would like a cup of tea," Minerva said. Winky nodded.

" _And_ some shortbread," she said. "Winky is baking some herself earlier."

Minerva sat down next to the kitchen fire in the comfortable seat that appeared to be left there for any strange human who happened to wander in. The kitchens gleamed in the soft candlelight and the low hum of the elves was soothing. They were doing something complicated that Minerva supposed might be bread for the morning.

A table appeared next to Minerva, and Winky bustled over with a cloth, a steaming teapot, cup and plate levitating behind her. She arranged the table to her satisfaction and beamed at Minerva. Her happiness in her work was obvious, but she still looked tired.

"Are you keeping well, Winky?" asked Minerva. She remembered how hard it had been for the little elf to get used to Hogwarts, and even though she was at least clean, wearing an old t-shirt Minerva was sure she'd seen Dobby wearing before, Winky still didn't look quite the same as the other elves. She smiled up at her, and the expression was so thin that Minerva was half sure she could see right through it to the pain underneath.

"Well enough," she said. Winky glanced round the kitchen, at the other elves so busy with their work, and shuffled a little closer to Minerva. "It is not the same, for any of us, Mistress. Dobby is dead, and Young Master and Old Master…." She paused and produced her handkerchief, blowing her nose almost defiantly. 

"But I does my best to think of the future," Winky said. "There's work to do, and the Castle is alive again, and Lopsy, she is the oldest elf, says that the Castle says we is having new elfings, soon."

"That all sounds good," said Minerva.

"It is good," said Winky. "Headmaster-that-was, Professor Dumbledore, he is telling me that one day I is happy again. And he is right. Sometimes the world is not just doing. Sometimes the world is being happy too."

"He was a very clever man," said Minerva. Winky nodded firmly and blew her nose again. 

"Mistress is telling me if she wants anything," Winky said. She walked off, joining another single elf sitting at a low table with a polishing cloth. Minerva watched her go, then looked around the huge room again. 

It managed to be homely, despite the massive tables, the huge ovens and ranges, the innumerable doors leading off to other parts unknown. The stonework was worn smooth with generations of elf feet, and everything she could see, from the gleaming copper-bottomed pans to the cheerful cast iron trivets, spoke of patient love and delight.

Minerva poured herself a cup of tea, smiling to herself as she realised the tea cosy was in the shape of a tartan cat. The tea was warm and satisfying, and she cradled her cup in her hands to enjoy the sensation. She reached for a piece of shortbread and bit into it gratefully. Winky had been right; she had wanted some shortbread.

When Minerva had been a student, she'd found it difficult to adjust at first. It was so different to the quiet cottage by the church, and she'd missed having something to do with her hands. She'd always found ways to show her love through service, as her mother had shown her, but there was nothing for her to do at the Castle. She'd visited the kitchens in desperation, and found a world of quiet, busy contentment. 

She'd found other ways to occupy her hands, and other ways to show her regard for people, but she still found herself looking for ways to be of service. She put down her cup and looked at her hands with a sigh. She wondered what there was left for her to do. 

She rose from her chair and Winky was there almost immediately. Minerva smiled down at her.

"Thank you," she said. "The shortbread was delicious."

"Winky is happy," she replied. 

Walking away, Minerva wondered if she still knew what gave her joy.

>>>>

The knock on the door to her office surprised Minerva; it was after curfew, and few students would risk her anger at this time of night. She opened the door, not without precautions. Even here, in the Castle, she ran risks in the war against Voldemort. 

The man on the other side of the door was completely unexpected. Severus Snape had only started working at Hogwarts at the start of this year. He'd had little to do with the rest of the staff, though Minerva kept an eye on him and worked with him as he started to learn his trade, as both teacher and, she speculated, Dumbledore's spy. She raised an eyebrow in question.

"Professor," he said, "please, I need your help." She looked at him more closely, seeing the singe marks on his robes and feeling the faint clinging strands of dark magic. His face was pale, young and scared, and she shelved her suspicion. "Please, come with me."

"Tell me about it on the way," she said, summoning her emergency bag and tucking it into her robes. "Will I need my cloak?"

"No," he said, "it's just in the dungeons."

She followed him as he slipped along the corridors, taking every shortcut. He looked at her pleadingly as they walked fast.

"Please," he said, "I didn't know who else to go to."

"Don't worry about that," she said. "Tell me what it is."

"You know, don't you, you know I was a Death Eater."

She hadn't known, not for certain, but she wasn't surprised. She'd tried hard to connect to Severus at school, find a way into his carefully guarded life, but he hadn't been willing to let her in then. She took a deep breath, suddenly furious at the fate that had led this boy to this point, but let it out slowly.

"Yes," she said, instead.

"But I'm not now, not really, but I still have to…." His voice trailed off, and she knew. She didn't want him to suffer any more than he already was.

"I understand," she said. She'd not been a spy herself, but she could guess at the pressure it would involve.

"And tonight," he said, sounding desperate, "tonight, I mean, I'm used to the games. Anyway, see for yourself." He pushed open the door to a disused storeroom in the lower level of the dungeons, and Minerva pushed past him as he whimpered, to see Lucius Malfoy crumpled on the floor. 

"But," she started, then stopped, compressing her lips tightly. There was no point in speaking. If Lucius was commonly supposed to be one of Voldemort's favourites, she could only conclude that he was not so tonight. She made her way to his side and pulled out her emergency bag. She was not a professional healer, but she was a skilled enough combat mediwitch, and these were not the first injuries she'd ever seen. It would not even be the first life she had saved, if it came to that.

She worked mostly in silence, directing Severus to help when she needed it. Looking at his pinched, wan face, she thought it better for him to keep his hands occupied. Finally, she was done, and all that was left was the wait. Lucius was stable now; he would wake soon enough. She was satisfied, and cleaned his blood from her hands as she watched his chest rise and fall.

"I will tell Dumbledore, of course," said Snape, and Minerva saw he'd pulled on the harsh, indifferent mask he usually wore. 

"Don't," she said. He recoiled from her, not sure of where she was going. "No, not the telling Dumbledore, though I expect he probably knows already. I meant, don't put that mask into place."

He looked at her, suddenly vulnerable again, and she put her arm around his shoulders. He was tall, but so thin and insubstantial under her touch. He stiffened. She thought wildly of some way to get through to him.

"Do you think I only help you for what good it may do me?" she asked. "No, I do good because it's _right_. Whatever happened to Malfoy tonight, whatever you did, I don't want to know about that. Tell Dumbledore." She took a deep breath. 

"I don't want you to hide yourself away and shun all contact as though you're poison," she said. She stopped him from speaking; she didn't want to hear his inner hatred about the mark burning on his arm. "I know, I know, but you can't cut yourself off. You must live, Severus, you must."

"As you do?" he asked, and she stopped, freezing in anger, before letting out a long breath. He was right, of course; when had she shown the joy and patience of her life to him?

"Yes," she said, "only rather better than I manage."

Lucius moaned slightly and shifted on his makeshift bed. Severus went to his side immediately. Minerva watched as he pushed back the damp, messy hair, touching the side of Lucius's face. He looked up at her, half-daring her to say something about his tenderness.

"Tomorrow," she said, "assuming you have no other plans, you will join me at curfew and I will teach you of the Castle." She held up her hand to stop his interruption. "Don't argue. I will show you something of living things."

She gathered up what was left of her emergency bag and left the room, shutting it firmly behind her. Walking briskly away, she thought of what she'd seen tonight, of the way Severus had let his mask slip, of the way he'd been so quick to try to replace it. Well, she could do nothing about the past, but the present was the time to do something about any possible futures they might have. She would show Severus delight in life, something he could hide away under that stoic facade of his, just as this Castle, just as _she_ did, herself, and that would, perhaps, be one guard against an uncertain future. 

>>>>

Minerva woke up from tangled dreams. She looked round her room, assuring herself that it had just been a dream, and was conscious of a slight nostalgic ache. She'd walked the Castle at night so often with Severus that to dream about it was bittersweet. A smile curved her lips as she remembered the first time Severus managed to feel a spell in the stones, getting an echo of the delighted laughter of the children that had run down that corridor that day. He'd been astonished.

Sitting up, Minerva found her regular cup of tea waiting for her and sipped it appreciatively. She wasn't much of a morning person, and the conveniences of the Castle made it just a little easier for her to manage. Dumbledore, the infuriating old goat, had always been a morning person, and she remembered many times she'd wished for the energy to hex him when he was particularly energetic. It was one of the many things that she and Severus had found they had in common.

Minerva smiled in fond remembrance of how particularly surly and monosyllabic Severus had been in the mornings. She got out of bed and prepared for the day, letting her thoughts run over old memories, finding each one now less sharp and painful than they had been, even a month ago.

She dragged her mind away from the past as she moved down the staircase to the entrance hall. Neville was waiting there for her, a box next to him containing the things necessary for their successful repair.

"You told me it would be simple, Minerva," he said, gesturing to the box stuffed full of herbs and salt and bits of wood.

"If I recall right, _you_ said it sounded simple," Minerva replied. "Since some of those things are volatile, I'll need you to carry it without magic."

"Ah, and now I see why I am indispensable to this venture," Neville said. He heaved dramatically on the box and Minerva laughed with him as she led the way into the dungeons. Once in the narrow space under the Castle, Neville shifted his grip on the box to stoop low enough to make it under the huge beams and around the exposed rock.

Stopping next to the scorched rock, Minerva dug through the box as Neville tried to stretch his back a little. She arranged branches of candles for the best light and extinguished her wand as they flared to life. 

"This is a simple process," she said, "if a little tedious." She handed Neville a jar.

"So this explains why you needed aloe vera," he said. He cautiously sniffed the potion she'd made, full of comfrey and mint and a hint of billywig sting slime.

"It's not traditional for the spell we're using, but anything that helps with the burning will be useful."

"I didn't know you were good with potions," he said.

"I'm sure your ability with potions is often overlooked too," she said. He nodded; she knew that he'd been largely self-taught, and she didn't think he'd ever be ready to hear about how Severus had taught her some of the finer points of potion making.

"One of the interesting aspects of this spell is that it works better if you know the original intent of the caster. The more accurately you can match that, the better and stronger the repairs will be."

"And do we know the original intent?" asked Neville. 

"Maybe," said Minerva. "I found, years ago, some papers from a historian writing a biography of Helga Hufflepuff, that claimed, based on documentation that has long since vanished, that she had made the Room of Requirement. I took notes and just found them again a few days ago, while preparing for this."

"Excellent research, professor," said Neville. She inclined her head at the compliment.

"And, if so, what was the intent of the room?"

"The room wants people to have what they need to be all they can be," said Neville immediately. 

"Then Helga wanted the room to foster determination and delight," said Minerva.

"It's throughout the whole Castle," said Neville. Minerva nodded. She'd often felt that, walking the corridors in the still of night, and it warmed her heart to see this young man with such a deep, heartfelt understanding of it.

"Let's cast this spell, then," said Minerva. She lifted her wand, watching Neville do likewise, and poured all her determined love for the Castle into the casting, making sure each word was filled with the depths of her joy, the boundless energy of her patience. The spell lines in the rock slowly shifted, glowing as they replenished themselves from the magic of their spell. The potion sank into the stone, washing away the dull black scorching and refreshing the subtle glitter of the gneiss. 

Finally, Minerva opened her eyes and took a deep breath. Next to her, Neville's shoulders sagged in sudden exhaustion. She had no idea how long they'd been down here, but she was hungry and tired both, with the good feeling of accomplishment behind it. The stone was perfect. Neville put his hand on it and his face broke into a huge grin.

"The rock is healed, and, yes, I can feel the spell lines so clearly now." He looked awed. "It worked, Minerva."

They shared an awkward, cramped, one-armed hug. By unspoken agreement, they packed quickly to leave. Even Neville's muscles must be cramping up, thought Minerva. Hers were certainly not happy at her time spent crouched up in the chilly air of the foundations.

Neville slowed his pace to hers as they climbed the stairs out of the cellars, into the dungeons, back into the entrance hall. Minerva could tell he was desperate to race off and check if the room was repaired, but appreciated his consideration. As they reached the corridor outside where the room appeared, Neville's footsteps slowed.

"I know it's there," Minerva said. "Fix your mind on it. Summon it."

She watched as Neville squared his shoulders and concentrated on what he wanted and needed. He started to pace slowly down the corridor, leaving her looking after him. She leaned slightly against the wall, letting the strength of the Castle support her. She realised, as she let the sunlight spill over her and warm her feet, that she felt joy at last. She'd nearly forgotten it, but there was no mistaking the sweet, fierce happiness that burned in her. It was the love of life itself, and how unpredictable and bittersweet and fantastical it could be. 

Neville walked faster now, back towards her, and Minerva could see the same joy and anticipation on his face. He turned, for the last stretch, and Minerva watched his strides lengthen in his eagerness. He stopped at the end of the corridor, and, with a faint pop, a doorway appeared in the wall. He turned and stared at it. 

They both walked slowly forward to stand in front of the door. Neville touched the handle gently before dropping his hand back to his side.

"It's really there," he said. He smiled at Minerva and she saw all his good qualities shining on his face. He was brave and generous and determined and so deceptively ordinary. "I don't even need to go in," he continued. "I realised, I already have all the things that were left there. They're all inside me, with the memories of my friends."

"Not only memories," said Minerva. 

"You're right." He looked towards the windows at the end of the corridor where the sun now poured in, and his smile grew, if anything, even wider. "It's a beautiful day. I think I'll go down to the greenhouses for a bit, and maybe visit Hagrid."

Minerva patted him on the shoulder and watched him go. As he rounded the corner, the door disappeared with another faint pop. She turned to leave, following more sedately, and rather more stiffly, in Neville's footsteps. She banished the dust from her shoes and robes as she walked, and hoped her hair wasn't too messy.

As she came down the main staircase to the entrance hall, hand trailing on the banister and the delightful warmth of the Castle all around her, she felt joyful in the future she had waiting for her.


End file.
